Tonight I Can Almost Hear the Singing

There is a music to this sadness. In a room somewhere two people dance. I do not mean to say desire is everything. A cup half empty is simply half a cup. How many times have we been there and not there? I have seen waitresses slip a night's worth of tips into the jukebox, their eyes saying yes to nothing in particular. Desire is not the point. Tonight your name is a small thing falling through sadness. We wake alone in houses of sticks, of straw, of wind. How long have we stood at the end of the pier watching that water going? In the distance the lights curve along Tampa Bay, a wishbone ready to snap and the night riding on that half promise, a half moon to light the whole damned sky. This is the way things are with us. Sometimes we love almost enough. We say I can do this, I can do more than this